Black suit, black coffin, black cat, a stream of people.
Where do the black coffins travel to?
Their routes under de burial-ground must link all the dead stars above it
The droplets of water falling on the cemetery’s grass
The trees mourning with the mortals
Nature holding in its silent tears
A man walking in procession at his own funeral
People swirling around him like the black death
Withered branch, withered limb
The galaxies with his soul in the palm of their hand
Where does such an existence go to?
Truly a secret for the cosmos alone to unfold
